


Tell Me

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Desk Sex, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gentle Sex, Intimidation, Jealousy, M/M, Past Memories, Rough Sex, Secrets, Surprise Kissing, Surprise!Feelings, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 23:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17755550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Flint finds out that Silver slept with Jack Rackham  - a sequel to Not Until You Beg.





	Tell Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt 'What happens when Flint finds out that Silver let Jack fuck him? (because now I'm hcing that for all Silver thinks Flint would be rough, he'd actually be gentle and drag it out enough that Silver would lose his mind.) Thx for this story'
> 
> <333

 

It was inevitable, Jack supposes, that Flint would find out. Still, he hadn’t expected it to happen quite like it does. Nor did he expect it to have such surprising results. He had been drinking the tavern though, and sometimes, upon occasion, his mouth did tend to run away with him, and well, here they are. 

Flint collars him, shoving him into a dark alcove of the brothel. “Say that again.”

Jack swallows tightly, cringing against the white hot iron of Flint’s anger. The fury here is terrifying and he wonders just how badly he’s fucked up by touching Silver,  how badly Silver has by letting him, and what the consequences will be for them both. Nobody would notice if Flint just slit his throat here and now. And yet, they’d both been sure that neither of their captains ever looked at them, let alone _saw_ them. That was why they had done it.

“I fucked Silver.” He manages to repeat the words he’d just said to Max, a little carelessly perhaps.

Flint’s eyes narrow. “Are you lying to me?”

“Ask him yourself!” Jack sputters helplessly. Not that he wants that. The mere thought of Flint finding out the actual facts of the matter, _god_. He goes white at the thought. He’ll be strung up by his cock, left to wither in the sun, when Flint’s done with him if he ever finds Jack styled himself as Flint to fuck his cook.

“I’m asking _you_.” Flint’s voice is soft now and Jack’s the closest he’s ever gotten to pissing himself. The quiet danger in Flint’s voice is terrifying and there’s no escape. For a moment he thought he had spied Vane over Flint’s shoulder, but when he blinks and looks again, there’s no sign of Vane in the doorway. Jack has imagined him, which is just as well. The last thing he needs, Jack knows, is for Vane to stumble into this sodding mess. Bad enough that one of the captains has found out. 

“I…we were drinking together, and it just came about. When you’ve been at sea a while, all it really takes is a willing party often enough.”

Flint’s relaxed just a fraction, not leaning into Jack quite as hard. “What else?”

“What else do you need to fuck?” Jack shrugs, or tries to. It’s difficult to do when Flint’s weight is pressing against him.

“ _You_ need something more.” Flint says knowingly, eyes boring into Jack relentless and cruel as a hawk. That’s not fair. How the fuck does Flint know that?

Jack weighs his options here, deciding swiftly. They hadn’t given each other any word, made no promises about _not_ to tell their captains. There had been no reason to at the time. It had simply gone without saying. Why would they tell their captains? But they had also not said anything about not telling each other’s captains either, and so Jack hesitates a moment longer.

“He…” No, he can’t do it. Even if he and Silver had no bargain between them, he still doesn’t want to betray him. To have your captain know you long for him in such a fashion is embarrassing enough, but this, having it spilled out, confessed like a penitent in a confessional is appalling. And yet...if their positions were reversed, would Silver keep his secret.

He looks up at Flint. “Have you ever seen someone when they’re longing for someone, captain? There’s something rather appealing about it when you can give them the thing they long for, in lieu of the person they’re longing for.”

Flint frowns. At this semi-vague confession he draws back, leaving Jack still half pressed against the wall. “What’re you talking about?”

“That’s all I’m prepared to say.” Jack says nobly.

When Flint doesn’t say anything, he starts past him only for Flint’s hand descends upon his forearm, catching him.

“Where were you when you met?” Flint asks softly.

“At Ms Guthrie’s establishment.” Jack says just as softly. “We were both waiting for our captains.” That’s as plain as he can say it, and it’s more than he should have said. He knows that much. He leaves Flint there in the alcove and walks away quickly, glad to be out in the fresh air with his balls still intact.

 

*  *  *

 

Flint stalks his way through the streets, heading for Eleanor’s. He was on his way there already, had merely stopped in at the brothel and happened to overhear Rackham blithely telling one of the women there that he had fucked Silver.

_Silver._

Just the thought of it makes Flint’s chest grow tight. He’s known fury before, lived with it, breathed it in deep and kept going when it would have toppled lesser men. This feeling is familiar and yet startling in its strength. Where has it come from? Why the fuck does the information do this? Silver’s nothing to him. Jack fucking him should mean nothing to him.

Even the fact that Silver fucked with a member of a rival crew, which is the only reason any of this should have cause for alarm, isn’t the reason for Flint’s rage. Or maybe it is. It’s part of it, definitely. But it’s closer than that, it’s the matter of Silver himself. The knowledge that he had willingly gone to another man, for this need. Instead of a whore, instead of one of his own crew, instead of... That’s what most men would have done first, Flint reasons.

But there the rage rises up again, threatening to overflow his chest. The thought of Silver with one of his crew makes Flint want to seize something, anything, a chair, a table, anything that will shatter in his fists, and throw it against the wall, smash something into as many pieces as possible. If he found Silver with a member of the Walrus crew, he would have done something rash and volatile, he knows that much.

 

*  *  * 

 

He finally reaches Eleanor’s and sweeps through the doors, pausing in to look around the dim room. There, he finds Silver in a corner, going over a chart of some sort, his head bent down, his focus entirely on the chart before him. He looks different at first, and Flint pauses, trying to work out what it is, and then realizes it’s the expression on Silver’s face. When Silver’s not trying to charm or wheedle or excuse his way out of anything, his face is bare of any mask, intelligent, thoroughly interested in the chart before him.

It gives Flint some perspective, but he doesn’t want to examine that particularly right now. He approaches Silver and stops in front of the table, clearing his throat meaningfully.

Finally Silver looks up. “Captain.”

“A word, Mr. Silver, if you please,” Flint says pleasantly enough. But Silver’s eyes narrow slightly, and his shoulders tense ever so faintly.

“Follow me.” Flint says curtly and turns to go up the few steps into Eleanor’s office. Silver follows him after a moment and Flint waits until he’s inside the room before he closes the doors. As an afterthought, he locks them as well.

He turns around and Silver shrinks back half a step. “Look, captain, whatever’s happened, I…”

“What do you think’s happened?” Flint asks, curiously. He wants to know what Silver’s worried about. Is it his betrayal so intimate and perverse by going to another man on another crew, or is it something else? What other tricks are up his sleeve? What secrets is he hiding? Flint wants to know, no, he _needs_ these answers. He takes a step closer to see how Silver will react.

Silver swallows, his eyes darting around the room while he seeks some sort of escape but there’s none. Silver already knows this room. He’s been confined here before and here is where he made that absurd suggestion that they might be friends at some future point. Flint hasn’t even allowed himself to dwell on that statement, because he doesn’t care to laugh too often, nor too loudly where others can hear.

“I don’t know.”

Flint laughs humorlessly. “Try again.”

Silver shrugs his shoulders in helpless surrender. He’s at a loss here, no idea what Flint wants to speak to him about.

Flint moves closer, and leans in, his mouth a breath away from Silver’s ear. “I spoke with Jack Rackham.”

Silver turns sharply, and freezes, his face so close to Flint’s they could have kissed. Flint’s eyes alight on Silver’s mouth, those full red lips usually displayed in a smirk or the telling of a tale, just a glimpse of his neat white teeth, and that tongue within, oh…Flint wonders about that tongue.

“Did he kiss you?”

The questions startles them both. Flint, because he had had no intention of asking it, but once he’s looked at Silver’s lips, he needs to know. And Silver, because he has no notion of the train of thoughts currently traveling through Flint’s head. His eyes widen, his lips part further in amazed stupefaction.

“What?”

“Did he kiss you?” Flint repeats, his breath passing over Silver’s cheek like a prayer, a warning, a promise. “When he fucked you?”

Silver’s eyes close for a fraction of a second and then they’re open again, staring back at Flint with bright bold anger.

“Why does it matter?”

Flint’s eyes narrow. “What?” That’s no proper response. Of course it matters. Why is Silver acting like an idiot now of all times?

“Why does it matter,” Silver practically hisses the words as he glares mutinously at Flint. “Why the fuck would it matter to you?”

Flint grips the back of his neck tightly. He can feel the breath in Silver’s throat, the life in his body, the tension coiled inside him, waiting for whatever Flint’s going to do next, and not knowing what that’s going to be.

Flint raises his other hand and Silver tenses further at the impending blow he believes to be imminent. Slowly, instead, Flint lets his hand cup Silver’s jaw, letting the wealth of tenderness he’s buried, stored deep in the coffers of his soul, spill out upon the man here before him. His lips descend to Silver’s, a single question upon them for once. And then Silver sighs, a little helplessly, a barest whisper of a laugh upon his lips and Flint smiles into it. The question is answered. He grips Silver’s jaw a little more intimately as his tongue dips between Silver’s lips. Silver’s hands pull at his shirt. There’s no distance between their bodies, barely at any rate, and Flint’s aware of his heart beating rapidly in his ears, a dull roar that he can’t quiet.

At last Silver breaks off, drawing a ragged breath as he grips Flint, panting against his chest.

“That was…unexpected.” Silver sounds puzzled, like he truly can’t make anything of this.

A thought strikes Flint. Silver didn’t think him capable of it, of sharing that sort of intimacy, of being that sort of man, to want in your bed, to be with you and touch you. Rackham, he could turn to, but not Flint, never Flint.

What if he proves Silver wrong? There’s no reason to. Nothing other than the urge in his own heart to do so.

“How so?” He murmurs.

“I…” Silver shakes his head. “Didn’t think you’d…if…” He still sounds puzzled.

Flint draws back a few inches, his hands dropping to rest on Silver’s chest. “Tell me to stop. Tell me…you don’t want this.”

Silver stares up at him with such an intensity of examination that Flint instantly wants to look away.

“Tell me you do.” Silver returns, the fierceness returning then, the strength carrying his words straight as an arrow to Flint’s chest.

That’s it then. Silver doesn’t think he wants this.

He answers Silver as best as he can, sliding his hand up to cup his jaw once again, kissing him. He pours all of his lust and frustration, tenderness and hunger and yes, the rage, into the kiss, letting Silver shiver against him, pressing into the hold Flint has on his neck once more.

When Flint opens his eyes, (had he closed them? To breathe in the closeness of his and Silver’s mingled breath) Silver’s eyes meet his with startling clarity.

“That’s not an answer.” Silver whispers, still holding back as he waits.

“Isn’t it?” Flint presses his thumb to Silver’s lower lip, teasing, toying with it. The warmth of Silver’s breath heats his skin.

Silver shakes his head mutely, but shivers again, as Flint brings his thumb along the full length of his mouth then drops it to trace along Silver’s collarbone, bared and sweating and waiting for Flint’s mouth.

Flint brushes his thumb into the sweat there, watching Silver suck in a sharp breath, the perspiration upon his skin spreading at Flint’s proximity.

“Tell me.” Silver says again, half entreaty, half command, his gaze locked on Flint’s with a hunger that cannot, or will not be denied.

Flint swallows. He could do that. He could deny that which Silver is offering. But he doesn’t want to deny it.

His hands cup Silver’s face of their own accord. “I want this. I want…you.” The last word is a confession of all sorts. To Silver, to the sky, to the sea, to Miranda, to the ghost of the past over his shoulder in the shadows always, to the future beyond tomorrow.

Silver exhales shakily, leaning into Flint’s embrace. “God…yes.” His mouth seeks Flint’s hungrily and Flint responds, turning and guiding him back up against the desk. Eleanor’s desk. He offers up a silent apology for what’s about to happen on this desk and then is simply grateful he locked the door.

The last thing he needs is someone walking in on them now.

 

*  *  *

 

He presses Silver down upon the desk, sticking his hand down Silver’s breeches. Silver moans into his touch as Flint strokes him from base to head. God, he could simply stroke Silver off, watch him finish, and keep that good and close. It would be a good memory, nothing wrong with it all.

But he wants Silver. He wants to fuck Silver.

He pulls back, panting. Aware of this, how much of an embarrassment in ways this is, if it were seen by anyone other than them, if Silver chose to betray him. How the notorious Captain Flint had been brought low by wild lusts?

Silver grabs at his shirt, holding him from going too far. “I…gah.” His head falls back as he draws a deep breath. “Please.”

Flint nods, “Get your breeches down.” He looks around the office. There must be oil. This is Eleanor’s office after all.

He reaches over the desk to pull open a drawer, and there’s success. He grabs the small jar and brings it out. When he looks back, Silver’s got his breeches down to his ankles, his lower torso bare for Flint’s perusal.

Flint merely reaches down and tugs them all the way off. He steps more solidly between Silver’s legs, nudging his thighs wider apart.

He still has questions. He wonders how it was like between Silver and Rackham. He still wants to know what was the cause there, the lure, the final note that struck the chord. As much as he wants to move rapidly upon Silver, in heated lust, he takes his time now, knowing that he must.

His fingers are careful, measured between Silver’s legs.

Silver gazes at the ceiling, “Go on then, ask me.”

“What would you have me ask you?” Flint’s voice is entirely neutral, he prides himself on that as his fingers sink deeper.

“Whatever is causing you to look like you’re undertaking some strategy in battle.” Silver half-gasps the last word as Flint’s fingers probe a particularly susceptible spot. He swallows and licks his lips. “I know you’re not afraid in battle, so…”

“How was it with Rackham?”

He has no right to ask this, and yet, somehow it is his very right to be standing here, to preparing Silver in this fashion, to be asking this question.

Silver colors faintly, shaking his head slightly as he gazes upward still. “It was…very satisfactory.”

Flint grits his teeth. That’s not an answer, that tells him nothing. He has his imagination, but he always has that. He wants more, he wants the truth of it. The gritty, sweat-stained truth, with Rackam’s hands on Silver’s body, his cock thrusting steadily inside Silver.

“Tell me.”

Silver sighs again. “He wields a pretty cane.”

Flint blinks, assessing this information. “You let him beat you?”

 Silver shakes his head yet again. “I can’t explain.”

“He wouldn’t tell me anything either.” Flint says lightly when the silence has lingered too long and he’s been stroking his fingers inside Silver simply for the pleasure of it. “You’ve told me more than he.”

Silver laughs at that, propping himself up on his elbows, gazing at him. “Somehow I’m not surprised. Jack is quite the gentleman.”

The spark of jealousy bolts upward again as Flint looks at him, but Silver’s expression is almost fond as he looks back at Flint between his legs, and somehow Flint can’t be angry. He leans forward, kissing Silver’s mouth. He has this at least, he has Silver’s mouth, the way his breath answers Flint’s, the way his lips move, he has Silver’s kisses.

He reaches back down for more oil, readying his cock. Is he ready for this? There’s no way but forward to find out.

Silver bites his lip as Flint sinks into him, his hands gripping at Flint’s back, urging him. A thousand memories pass through Flint’s brain, sheets white as snow, laughter soft on a summer’s day, the faint, but undeniable sounds of pleasure growing louder and louder until silenced by a hand over the mouth, the warmth of an embrace on a chilly morning, hungry sharp need relentless and frenzied as they fucked behind a door in the study.

He draws back into himself a moment, and then carefully brushes it aside. The past is not here, and Silver is. Silver, his legs wound around Flint’s middle. Silver, his own cock, aroused and hopeful, pressed between their bellies. Silver who dared ask him why it mattered.

Flint slides his hands down Silver’s thighs, lifting them slightly as he thrusts further home, making Silver gasp, and fall backward, gripping the desk to steady himself. Flint moves in time with the sea, the internal waves of his heart, the steady interminable rhythm of it. Silver meets each wave with an answering swell of lust. The muscles in Flint’s legs ache. He wishes they had found a bed, but there’s a satisfaction too to this, doing this here, here where Silver made that absurd, ridiculous statement those few short sweet weeks ago.

_We might be friends by then._

Silver starts chuckling helplessly and Flint pauses mid-thrust. “What?”

“Is that what this is?” Silver gestures, a feeble two fingered wave at the desk, the room, them. “Friendship?”

“Oh.” Flint blushes then, unaware he had spoken aloud. “Would it so be bad if it was?”

“No.” Silver shakes his head. “Quite the contrary.”

Flint hides a smile, and resumes his actions before he was interrupted.

“Tell me then.” He whispers, moving even more slowly, making sure Silver feels every last inch of him. “Why Rackham?”

Silver chokes back a noise that’s half groan, half laugh, staring up at him. “Do you really want to know? Now? Here?” He moves his hips meaningfully, as though Flint could forget what they were in the midst of doing.

“Yes.” Flint says simply. Of all the men here in Nassau, and there would be many willing to bed Silver, he knows that much, he’s not unobservant, why Jack Rackham? Of all the men in the world, why had Silver chosen him?

Silver rests on his elbows, looking at him. There’s sweat on his collarbone, on the v of his chest open to the heat of the day. His eyes are as blue and endless as the sea.

“We discovered we both wanted the same thing.”

Flint’s so lost in the depths of Silver’s eyes it takes him a moment for the words breach through.

“Hmm?”

“Rackham and I hold a mutual desire.” Silver says slowly.

“And that is?” Flint cocks his head, trying to understand what they could possibly have in common.

Silver flushes, and now he looks away, still at ease for all appearances, but if Flint didn’t have him firmly caught by being firmly entrenched in him balls deep, he would be off the desk and out of the room already. It’s there, if you know how to look for it.

“Well?” Flint says, a little harder. He presses a little deeper and Silver gasps faintly.

“Very well,” He sighs, looking at the ceiling for a moment as though still trying to think of a way out of this mess, “if you must know.”

 There’s still a hesitation and now Flint has to know. He has no intention of leaving this room until he does. He will stay inside Silver for as long as it takes, damn it.

“We both wanted our captains.” Silver murmurs, his gaze shifting back to Flint’s face.

Flint blinks. That’s hardly what he expected Silver to say, even though he doesn’t know what he expected. “You and Rackham…” He’s still piecing this together. “Fucked because of that?”

Silver shrugs a little helplessly, a touch of defiance in the gesture.  “Yes?”

Flint gazes down at him, thinking of it, and where they are now, with Silver splayed upon Eleanor’s desk, their sweat mingled together just as their bodies are joined. “and he…” He’s not sure how to say this, and yet he needs to ask. “You were thinking of me?”

Silver sighs at this too but nods.

“Why?” Flint asks, a little perplexed.

At that Silver just laughs. It ripples through him all the way up Flint’s chest. “Would you have even seen me if not for that? Would we be here, fucking if not for that? Would you have ever thought of it?”

“I’m seeing you now.” Flint answers, leaning down to capture his jaw. He kisses Silver’s mouth as he moves, slow, tightly urgent thrusts that make Silver wrap his legs tighter around him.

Silver’s tongue is hot in his mouth and his hands are on Flint’s hair, tugging it. Flint’s chest presses against Silver’s as they fuck. This desk will never be the same for them, and this afternoon has changed things beyond measure and still Flint doesn’t want it to end, though all things must end, someday.

He comes in a rush, Silver’s breath on his cheek, Silver’s come on his belly. The only sound in the room is faint, strangled panting.

Slowly Flint looks at Silver. Silver panting, one arm thrown back above his head, staring up at him. Flint leans in to lick a drop of fresh sweat on Silver’s neck. He feels Silver’s pulse, feels him twitch against him, his body still claimed by Flint’s, even now.

“I did see you.” Flint says, a trifle unsteadily. “I just didn’t know…” He can’t explain that he didn’t know how much it mattered until he’d heard Jack Rackham. Now he does.

He didn’t agree with Silver when he’d said they might be friends, because he knows all too well where friendship leads, between two of a similar minded disposition, with equal strength of mind and desires that mingle together all easily. He had a friendship like that once before, and it left him brokenhearted.

Flint’s not sure if he wants another friendship, one that threatens to devour his heart whole, but he knows, as he gazes at Silver, that there’s no turning back now, whether he wants to or not. They’re already here.

Silver shifts a little and Flint eases back enough that Silver can sit up as Flint slips out of him.

“This doesn’t have to change anything.” Silver says slowly and Flint understands he’s giving him a way out if he doesn’t want to acknowledge this tomorrow.

“And if I want it to?” Flint says, still leaning in, looking at him.

“Well,” Silver says, “You’re the captain.”

Flint nods, “Your captain,” He murmurs and leans in to place another kiss on Silver’s lips as his look of surprise dies away.

 

 


End file.
